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"Atlantians." The man spat the word, hatred lacing his voice. He slammed his office phone down creating the unsatisfactory sound of plastic smacking plastic.  His men had been on the trail of another one, but he had slipped away, literally, into the sea.

He drummed his fingers on the desk pad as he looked around his pristine office. Ever since he was a boy, he had been neat. In fact, if you asked his mother, she would say he straightened the delivery room the minute he was born. Whether it was a natural born personality trait or compulsive behavior, he didn't know or care. He only knew that he felt truly at rest when his world was in order.

What he did know was that it helped him in his work, made him what he was, an analyst. He had examined every definition of the word. It was the one that perfectly described the task he loved best. So that is what he called himself. He was the analyst that determined the facts of the testing. The analyst that determined the data of the observations. The analyst that determined when they were no longer of any use. He took joy in it all.

His orderly mind required a clean, almost spare look. So his office had only two colors, black and white. The interior decorator had tried, quite insistently, to get him to add a third color for 'pop' but he'd held his ground. The decorator had left very displeased, but he had felt quite satisfied with the completed room.

His gaze caught on a canvas that hung on the wall directly across from his desk. White background, black city. He squinted at it for a moment before getting up and walking to it. He moved the bottom corner the tiniest fraction of an inch. Most people wouldn't have noticed the difference, but he did. He nodded and sat back down behind his large, black desk.

He needed another specimen. With so much left to do, the analyst in him didn't like having any downtime. Maybe some of the refrigerated samples could be used in the tests he had wanted to run today. He rose and headed out to the hallway, waving happily to the other employees in the area. One had to keep up appearances.

This part of the building held the work one expected, the work that could be shown to the public. His black and white office, as well as his own lab area, was here. His second research area, completely separate and completely hidden, was where his real work took place.

Turning toward the restroom section, he saw the familiar floor to ceiling dark blue whale on the back wall. He once again congratulated himself on his inventiveness. In the darkest blue shade, a door hid in plain sight. Turning the handle, he stepped into what would seem to any snoop to be a broom closet. He pushed on the back wall causing the panel to move.

That door led to an old lab area. Most people thought it was no longer used and was cut off from the rest of the building. But he had made a way in.

The analyst took the dimly lit hallway marked 'Labs' and passed dark, dusty offices until he found the room he was looking for. Turning into it, he flipped the light switch. He went straight to the refrigerator and pulled out the samples he would try to work with today.

Every day he squeezed in some time down here. He had one goal in mind, the betterment of humankind. As much as he didn't want it to be so, those abominations were healthier than humans. They were stronger, they had less physical defects, and they lived longer. If he could find some way to use what they had to help his people, maybe what he had gone through would be worth it.

His thoughts drifted back to the first time he had sworn that those sea creatures would suffer for what they had done. Just a boy, he had sat at the funeral of his parents sobbing. The story of their death swirled through the adults standing over him. A freak accident by a crazed man. But he knew better. He'd been there.

The man had plowed through their house. He had been tall and abnormally strong, but the thing that had been most remarkable was his rage. It had burned so hot that it destroyed everyone around him. That rage and the tattoo that ran down his arm seared in the boy's memory. The tattooed man came for the boy's father. He tracked him from the sea. He bellowed his father's name as he raced at him and whispered it as his father lay dying.

The boy's mother, in her fear and grief, picked up a kitchen knife and come at the man. He didn't turn from drinking in the sight of the broken body he had created. With nothing but a toss of his arm, the boy's mother had gone flying. 

He'd heard the crack of her neck as she hit the wall.

The boy had stood frozen as the big man had continued to stare at his father. When he rose, he turned to the boy. His eyes were red and wild causing the boy to step back in fear. 

The strange man took a step toward him then stopped. Whatever thought he'd had changed in that moment. He suddenly ran back out of the house and into the dark night. 

That was his first mistake. He would make many more.

On that day, the boy had made a vow. He would find out who the tattooed man was. He would track him down. He would make him pay. When he was older and fully understood his vow, he renewed it. He started his search only to find there were not just one of those men but so many more. 

It was later when he had found out what they truly were. That they were Atlantian, some sort of freakish mutation, and that he would somehow use them to help people. It was then he became the analyst.

Years had gone by, and he had made them pay, made him pay dearly. Yet when it came to the science, he hadn't been as successful as he had hoped. Every move forward seemed to be blocked, and he had few other avenues to try.

The time would come when the Atlantian research concluded,  then what would he do? He needed them gone, and for that, he'd have to consult with the others.

They needed to be exterminated from the earth, like the vermin they were, before they took over.  Only then would all was right with the world.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter! If so, please press the little star. :)

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